Back to Baker Street
by epephany
Summary: John travels back to Baker street to check on Sherlock, who had been in some dark place. But things take a dangerous turn when the truth about Sherlock's feeling for him and Mary's baby to light. In a moment of passion, the two men make a decision that changes everything. Warning...so much smut and angst.


John stood outside 221b, gazing at the door with as mixture of reluctance and sadness. He hadn't been back here since he'd gotten married and he felt overwhelmingly out of place. Which was ridiculous because this had been his home for so long.

But he was worried.

Mrs. Hudson had called (which was strange enough as it was, considering how he hadn't given her his new number) and told him that Sherlock had been acting different. She said that it had started out slow, him sneaking outside to smoke at odd hours of night, leaving the flat more often and lightening up his case load. But it was different now. He started staying up for days on end again, he chainsmoked while shuffling through mysterious paperwork that he would immediately hide when she walked in, and he would pace the flat for hours muttering to himself and not answering Mrs Hudson when she came to check on him. Then he started locking the flat. John had hailed a cab after his dinner with Mary and firmly gave the driver directions to the detective's home.

John rapped briskly on the fading wood. There was no reply. He bang on the door harshly...still no answer.

"Fucking hell." He murmured to himself. Mrs. Hudson had said that Sherlock kept the door locked...had he changed the locks, or had she just been too polite to use her own key? The doctor fished around in his pockets and withdrew his dingy chipped key. He put it in, twisted...thank god. The door opened. The flat was only half-lit, the dull yellow bulbs flickered sadly from the ceiling, bathing the rooms in a pale eerie glow. John felt his eyebrows slide together. The flat was so...filthy. John had never seen it in such a disarray. Books were stacked precariously in columns all around, literally wobbling when the ex-soldier walked past them, papers were strewn across every surface, some wrinkled, some in perfect condition. Some were maps, some graphs with red lines scribbled in every direction. Crusty dishes were piled high in the sink, a bottle of overturned blue dish soap slowly oozed to the dirty floor. Chairs were overturned and there was even a shiny cobweb nestled into the corner of the wall.

Bloody hell. John, in a panic, thought that Sherlock had been robbed. It was the only explanation as to why it looked like no one had been here in months. Mind you, Holmes had never been the cleanest person, but this was ludicrous. There was a squeak then a rustle of papers. Watson whipped around.

Sherlock stood shirtless in front of a huge map of London, rolling a black market between his long fingers. The map was marked up with pins and red yard. Notecards were stapled to it, pictures of close friends, enemies and strangers were tacked up as well. It was impressive but made John's stomach hurt when he looked at it. Sherlock's back was pale and taunt with muscles, his trousers were slung so low on his hips John could tell that he wasn't wearing pants. The detective turned and plopped down on the sofa, a lit cigarette dangling between his pink lips. He began rifling through a stack of papers in front of him. John was extremely surprised to see that his friend had grown a beard. Not full length of course, but it was there, as dark as the hair on his head. Sherlock took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled, not once touching the thing. It was impressive and...and nothing else, John told himself sternly, nothing else at all. The blonde was in awe. Never before had he seen the World's Only Consulting Detective so unobservent. He hadn't even noticed he was here.

John cleared his throat. Sherlock looked up, startled. John gave him a small smile, nervous at how Sherlock would take his unexpected visit. Holmes' pale eyes rested on Watson's, taking in his friend's new look. Sharp, yet still casual suit, hair brushed up, back and to the side all at once, and an expensive, heavy watch was wrapped around his wrist. The overall effect was suave and put together, a far cry from the fuzzy jumpers and neat trousers he had left in. John shifted, suddenly uncomfortable under Sherlock's intense gaze, wondering what he saw. The consulting detective's lips tightened around the cigarette as he took another drag, a moment later, thick white smoke flowed from his nose. He looked like something out of a photoshoot. John promptly kicked that thought out of his head. John wanted to say something, the reason he had come, to ask if he was ok...anything. But Sherlock just kept looking at him with that same, mind numbing gaze. For the first time since he entered the flat, his friend touched his cigarette, he pulled it out of his mouth, stamped it out in the couch and replaced it with another. He cupped his hand around it and lit it.

"Why are you here John?" He said, exhaling a large cloud of smoke as he spoke. Watson cleared his throat once more, caught off gaurd.

"Mrs Hudson called me actually, said she was worried about you..." Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow at him and John felt himself blush, suddenly feeling stupid. The dark haired man leaned back against the couch, his long legs spreading apart as he did so.

"Well as you can see, I'm perfectly fine, so you can run along and tell her I'm okay, just shut the door on your way out." He told him, his voice relaxed yet cold. He calmly returned to his paperwork. Anger flashed through the doctors body.

"The bloody hell is your problem?" Sherlock looked up.

"No problem, just not interested in being babysat." Watson rolled his eyes.

"I came to check on you git."

"Leave John, I'm busy, and that wasn't a question, so," he gestured towards the door. Anger pulsed through the blonde's veins, fast and hot like battery acid.

"Listen Mate, I came here because I was worried about you, because or landlady told me how bloody insane you've been acting, and I get here, and you talk to me like that?! The fuck do you think I am, Sally or one of those other idiots at the Yard?" There was a pause.

"I find it funny that you said OUR landlady." All the anger left him. Something was wrong. This wasn't the Sherlock Holmes he had left, this one was darker, harder with edges so sharp they could cut.

"Where's Mary?" The brunette asked suddenly. John was taken aback.

"At home...why" Sherlock shrugged.

"How did she handle the news of you coming over here so late?" He queried as he took a deep pull from his cigarette.

"She was-she was fine with it." John fumbled.

"You're lying." He said simply a small smile on his bow shaped lips. John felt the tips of his ears redden.

"Did she have any suspicions about your motives for coming to see me." John flushed darker.

"The bloody hell are you talking about Sherlock?" He asked, his voice shaking. He has a feeling be already knew. It was in Mary's eyes when he told her he was going to see him. Sherlock just smirked at him. He drew a pale hands up and scratched his beard. He finished his cigarette. Then replaced it.

"So you're smoking again?"

"Obviously." Under different circumstances, John would have laughed.

"Chainsmoking?"

"I'm a big boy John, I can put whatever I want into my body." He blew or another gust of smoke.

"How's the baby?" He asked. John lifted his head slowly.

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?" He asked innocently.

"You know bloody well what I meant, why did you say it like that?" John spat. Sherlock took another drag then stood. John's breath stuttered when he saw that his friend's trousers were sitting even lower on him now, the hard V of his hips showing, a few dark hairs curling over the waistband. He strode right over to John, who had an overwhelming urge to take a step back but didn't. It was then that John realized how hot it was. Sherlock was so close. So, so close. He reeked of expensive cigarettes and his eyes reflected off the dim light of the flat. Sherlock cocked his head to the side and looked at him. There was a single bead of sweat rolling down his chest. It slipped down his toned abdomen and disappeared behind his trousers. Watson forced his eyes back up. God, had he gotten closer? Holmes plucked the white stick from between his lips then blew a cloud of smoke into the doctors face. The blonde began to cough and swat at it, but he was silenced when the detective took his face in his hands and kissed him, the scruff of his beard ticking against his face.

John reacted completely on instinct. He gripped Sherlock by the hIps, nails digging in, and yanked his body towards him, his bare chest pressing up against him. He parted his lips and the other man slipped his tongue quickly. One of John's hands went up and wound itself in Sherlock's hair, the soft curls wrapping around his fingers. Their tongues slid over each other, tangled together and licked into the others mouth. It was hot and wet and slippery and all John could think was, oh god yes. There was something wrong...but what the hell was it? Sherlock's hand slid down his crisp white shirt and rested on his belt buckle. God, Mary never made him feel like this. Mary! John's hands flew to Sherlock's warm chest and he pushed him away roughly, their lips coming apart in a loud smack.

John couldn't breathe.

He took a few steps away and turned his back to his friend. What the hell? Jesus Christ. What had he? Did that count as cheating? What was that sounds? Surely he wasn't,

He turned around, and sure enough, the detective was lighting (yet another) cigarette. John was shaking.

"Why did you do that?"

"What did you kiss me back?" He asked calmly. John lost his shit.

"Fucking hell Sherlock, this isn't a game! I'm married! The fuck did you do that for?!" Sherlock just gave a cold laugh.

"You say that like you didn't want me to."

"I didn't!" He was lying.

"You're lying."

"No I'm not!" Yes he was.

"God!" John gripped his hair in frustration.

"This can't happen! Don't you understand that?! I'm married! And I have a child on the way!" Sherlock scoffed, his handsome face contouring.

"Honestly John, haven't you figured it out yet?" The doctors blood turned to ice.

"Figured what out?" Sherlock gave another cruel laugh.

"Come on Watson, you can't possibly be that daft."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" He asked, his voice trembling with rage.

"You don't find it odd, that your PREGNANT wife, strapped on her assassin uniform, grabbed a loaded gun and came after me?" My god, he wasn't suggesting...

"Wh-"

"And don't you think that it's the slightest bit strange, that an international assassin, who is trained to never show weakness or pain, was wincing and struggling just to get off a sofa?"

"She's-"

"Pregnant? Yea...sure she is." Sherlock laughed quietly to himself. John felt like his world had been flipped on its side...then touched with a flamethrower and stomped into the dirt in front of him. He wasn't saying...He couldn't be...He was lying...but Sherlock didn't lie...not to him. Mary on the other hand...

"FUCK!" John shouted, unable to believe this new revelation. She said she was done with the lies...She promised. John bent over, his hands on his knees and screamed, it echoed off the walls and rocketed down the hall. He was going to be sick. He heard the click of a lighter.

"You might not want to do that, Mrs. Hudson would no doubt come up here if you keep that up." John took a deep breath steeling himself. He looked at friend, grey smoke poured from his mouth.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, his voice rising unintentionally.

"Wasn't my place to tell you. And besides...you would have figured it out eventually."

"Goddammit Sherlock!" He shouted, unable to control himself. Sherlock whipped around, pale eyes blazing.

"What? What did you want me to do?! Tell you that the woman you loved wasn't really pregnant? Tell you that she would never stop lying to you?! Tell you that-" he stopped abruptly, mouth clamping shut. John knew deep down what be was going to say.

"Tell me what Sherlock?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me what?"

"I said nothing."

"And I said tell me!

"I love you!" He shouted, the words filling the room. There was silence. And then more silence. There, he had said it...He couldn't believe he had said it. He wished he hadn't said it. He wanted to take the words and shove then back into his mouth, he would choke on them if he had to. But there was no going back now, he looked at John.

"Do you have anything you want to say to me?" He asked. John blinked.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Sherlock stepped closer to the blogger, hearing the man's breath catch. He narrowed his eyes at him.

"I mean, do you. Have anything. To say to me?" John blushed a deep shade of red.

"I don't- I don't..."

"Nothing? You don't have anything to say." John's heart was jackhammering in his chest, this was not happening.

"What does it matter now?!" He shouted.

"No matter what happen with Mary, we're still married! I'm not going to be that guy!"

"What guy? The one who does what needs to do to make himself happy? The one who goes after the person he really loves?!"

"Dammit, Sherlock, it's not that simple!"

"Why can't it be?"

"Because that's not how things are"

"You don't love her! I know you don't!" John's eyes felt hot and prickly.

"You don't know that!"

"Yes I do! I see the way you look at her and I see the way you look at me! You. Do not. Love her!" Sherlock grabbed John by his face and kissed him. Their lips smashed together, tongues and teeth bumping. It was hot and fast and messy. Sherlock could feel the wetness of John's tears on his face. John gripped the other man's hair tightly, pulling him as close as he could. Holmes quickly undid the buttons on his blogger's shirt, ripping open the flaps and exploring the exposed flesh. John's skin hot and rough in places, the gunshot wound on his shoulder was the softest part of him. Sherlock caught John's bottom lip between his teeth and tugged on it. The doctor grabbed Sherlock by his biceps, swung him around and slammed him into the wall. John pulled his lips away and pressed them to the detectives throat, sucking at where his pulse beat the fastest. He gave a strong lick back up his neck and captured his lips once more. He pulled back suddenly and gazed into those insane eyes.

"I love you," he told him. There was a pregnant pause and the only sound was their heavy breathing. Sherlock grabbed John and spun him around, his back hit the wall with a thud. The brunette grabbed the blonde by the wrists and pinned his arms above his head. He dove back in, parting his lips with his tongue. His long pale fingers found their way to the others trousers. He yanked the belt free and dropped it to the floor with a dull thunk. Sherlock slid his mouth away and feathered them down John's toned body. He stopped when he made contact with the waistband , looking up at his soon to be lover as his fingers undid the button and zipper.

John's cock was hard, standing straight up and leaking pre-cum. It beaded up and rolled down the side of his shaft.

His pink tongue snaked out and without any hesitation, have a hard lick to the underside of John's cock. He took the head into his mouth and sucked on it harshly. John beleated out a loud moan, but didn't care enough to be embarrassed. Sherlock's head sank lower, pulling more of John into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking roughly on his hardened member, his tongue protecting him from his teeth. His hand came up and gripped the base of his shaft just a shade tighter than was comfortable and worked what he couldn't reach, which wasn't much.

John's hands were in Sherlock's hair, gently pushing himself deeper into the brunettes's tight wet throat. Sherlock looked up at John...He was a mess. He was pink in the face, beads of sweat rolling down his face. His lips were parted and his breath came out in short, laboured huffs. His stomach was tight, the need to cum set deep within him. Sherlock bobbed his head faster, slipping John's stiff cock in and out of his throat. He gagged hard when the tip rammed up against the ring of muscles in the back of his throat. He pulled away and lavished his erection with long, slow, lazy, lingering licks. He drew the blonde's shaft back into his mouth, impailing his throat with it.

"Slow up...Sherlock, slow-" he came. Hot and thick. It shot into the detective's mouth, thick ropes of it pulsing onto his tired tongue. Sherlock pulled John's cock from his mouth, slurping as he went. John was surprised that he had swallowed, suprised...yet deeply satisfied. The detective stood up, a thin string off eggshell white cum hanging from his perfect lips. The stand swung and stuck to his long neck. The doctor stepped forward and planted his tongue on his lover's throat, licking the trail away.

Sherlock pulled him into another bruising kiss. He grabbed him by the waist and picked him up, carrying him to the couch. He practically dropped him onto it. He crawled over John's body and kissed him roughly, his beard rubbing at the doctors smooth face. Sherlock placed a hand on the cushion next to John's head and reached down with his other hand to free his aching cock.

John looked down at him. Sherlock's cock was long and slender and was flushed a delicate shade of pink.

He pumped it a few times before taking it and moving into position. He rubbed the head of his shaft against John's arse briefly before thrusting into him. John gaped in pain, gripping Sherlock's shoulders. It hurt like hell, like he was being torn in half...and yet...under that...was something so sensational...some amazing feeling he had never experienced before.

"Shit," he murmured, tightening his grip on his lover as he pushed into him. It hurt so bad, but felt so wickedly good. Sherlock clamped his eyes shut when John began involuntarily flexing around him. The muscles in his arse clenching deliciously around his cock. John was tight and hot and-

"Jesus Christ," the detective exclaimed. The doctor had begun to arch up to meet him, rolling his hips forward. Shock opened his eyes and watched John fall apart beneath him. Good he was beautiful. He leaned down gave him scratchy kiss. Sherlock pumped into him, quick and fast, his raven curls bouncing slightly against his forehead. They were sweating, the droplets sliding down their warm skin and off their shaking bodies. Sherlock's bollocks slapped against John's arse, the sound filling the flat. Sherlock felt it, he was close...Jesus he was so close. He tried to tell John, but he just grabbed his face and kept pushing against him. Sherlock stilled as he came, hovering over John, panting as spilled into him. It leaked out of his arse and slowly oozed down his cheeks. He leaned down, his warm breath on the ex-soldier's neck. They laid there, catching their breath for what felt like ages. Sherlock pulled out of John and settled between his legs, his lover's cock resting on his back. He leaned back, pressing himself against John's muscular chest.

They didn't say anything for a few minutes, just laid there, John's arm wrapped around Sherlock. John saw a stray pack of cigarettes and a bic lighter on the floor next to him. He reached down and plucked one free. He reached around and held it in front of Sherlock's mouth. The detective smiled and parted his lips so John could set it between his teeth. He reached back around and lit it for him, the tip glowing orange. Sherlock took a drag as he laced his fingers through John's. Their intertwined hands rested on the doctors knee.

They had changed. Sherlock was darker, deeper. John was sharper, more defined. But they still fit together. Like the perfect, slightly dysfunctional puzzle they were. Sherlock blew out a gust of smoke and John smiled. God he loved him. So so much. He just wished they had said our sooner.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock's head. And whispered,

"I love you." The detective grinned, taking the cigarette from his mouth to say,

"I love you too."


End file.
